Well, if you do, I have a mountain in Mexico to sell you. For you, good deal. Almost free. Trust me.
Anyway, here we are again at the edge, having the adventure of a lifetime. Yes, we are surfing. Well, sort of. Surfing for aging gringos is called “boogie boarding” and it’s done on a piece of canvas- covered styrofoam which is actually a wannabe surfboard for wannabe surfers (like me). The surfboard in the picture, a real one, has been lent to us by some young surfer dudes who have let Jim take the picture next to the Airstream while they get a good laugh out of the whole thing. Anyway, I digress. Today we are staying at the Cerritos Beach and Surf Colony campsite. Surf Colony! Imagine. Did you ever think you might stay in such a place? Well, neither did we and yet that’s where we’ve ended up. And while we’re here, we’re doing all manner of things, including boogie boarding.
The action takes place on a gorgeous beach right on the Pacific Ocean and as we sit on the shore we measure the waves with our eyes. Six feet, we figure. Again, imagine. Anyway, six feet or not, a few of us crazy kids wade in and are instantly surprised by the “riptide”. That means a current which is going in several directions at once, usually one way while you are trying to go the other way. This current is so strong there are times when we can barely fight against it and we really wonder if we can get past it. But pass it we do, and then we are onto the rollers. Big. Bigger. Biggest – omigod, can these waves get any higher? Huge, enormous surf is suddenly coming at us and even though there’s four or five of our group out there together, we all suddenly disappear as a wall of white foam and water crashes into us, lifts us right off the ground and roars past us. Sometimes, the waves come in twos and so you no sooner recover from one and another one crashes over you in an unstoppable surge. But – I have the boogie board. Yes! So instead of just getting buried in a mountain of water, I (how smart am I to have grabbed one at Walmart?) am able to jump up ON TOP of the surf and now I get carried for yards and yards by this monster water, whooping and screaming with glee the whole time. Wow, what a rush! I am made for this . I AM SURFER GIRL!
Anyway, after a good part of an hour, all of we old baby boomers are exhausted. Our spines hurt from the pounding, our eyes are stinging from the salt water and our leg muscles are collapsing under the pressure of the waves. Now we have to get back through the riptide and onto the shore. More of our group stands there with cameras as we stagger in. My boogie board has snapped in half from the enormous water pressure and my bathing suit is limp and ruppled. But was it worth it? Hell, yes. As the sun sets, the waves die down a bit and we have lots of stories to tell. Unfortunately, all we can do now is rest, snap a few sunset pictures and crawl into our beds. What a day.
And then there’s the day we go snorkeling. We go to another lovely Mexican beach, this time without huge surf, don the snorkel gear and get out onto the turquoise water. The rock beds are filled with at least four species of colourful fish and snorkeling is a joy. Too bad some of us look like such extreme geeks in our gear. Oh well, can’t be a beauty queen all the time.
After snorkeling and siesta, we are transported to yet another beach for happy hour. This one is filled with yachts, all manner of water sports, families, bars, horseback riding and Mexican vendors. We actually get to watch a helicopter land on a yacht in front of us. We have to buy a beer in order to use the restrooms of a beach bar. We discover that it’s two- for- one hour and so end up with four Coronas on the table in front of us. Jim gets carried away and buys me a cute bathing suit cover -up from a nice Mexican lady called Delphinia who tells us all about her “cousin” in Toronto. What she doesn’t tell us is what type of fabric was used to make that little dress. Soon after she leaves with our eighty pesos, we realize it smells like an old horse blanket. We now have a cute red lacy cover for the barbeque.
And a final surprise is the level of protection that we discover we have as we are enjoying the snacks and drinking the margaritas that our leaders have graciously provided. As we glance behind our group, it seems we have visitors. Some men who seem to be dressed somewhat inappropriately for beach lounging have suddenly shown up out of nowhere. I manage to take a few pictures before being shut down by the commanding officer but at least we are happy to know we are being so protected. We hope. But no matter how you look at it, happy hour with machine guns at your back is an unsettling experience. One thing this trip hasn’t been is dull and once again, walking the edge with us proves interesting. I’m not sure what we can relate that will be more unusual than this, but be sure to stay tuned for more. However, this is enough rambling for now and so once again I’ll say…. adios, amigos. Be well.